Coach’s Pet — Bonus Chapter
“Good Boy” — Cole’s POV
A scene too hot for Amazon
by Chase Power
⚠️ Content Warning: This bonus chapter contains extremely explicit sexual content including D/s dynamics, oral sex, praise kink, orgasm denial, and graphic MM scenes. This content exceeds what is permitted on Amazon and is hosted exclusively on this site. Readers 18+ only.
The events of Chapter Nine, told from the other side of the kneeling.
Cole Maddox had been ready since seven o’clock.
The steak was resting on the cutting board. The sweet potatoes were roasted. The broccoli was steamed and sitting in a covered bowl on the counter, staying warm, because Cole Maddox was not the kind of man who served cold broccoli to the person he was about to fundamentally restructure a relationship with.
The apartment was clean. It was always clean — his baseline was most people’s deep-clean — but tonight he’d gone further. Vacuumed the rug. Wiped down the bathroom. Changed the sheets, which was redundant because he’d changed them this morning.
He’d set out water glasses. Two on the coffee table. Two on the nightstand. A bottle of lube and a box of condoms in the bedside drawer, positioned where he could reach them without fumbling.
His hands were shaking. Not from nerves. Anticipation. The kind that came from knowing exactly what was about to walk through his door.
Jamie Kincaid was going to kneel for him tonight.
His phone buzzed at 8:51. I’m in your parking lot. I’m nine minutes early. I couldn’t wait.
Cole read it. His cock thickened against his thigh. He typed back: I know. Come upstairs.
He opened the door before the knock came.
Jamie was in the hallway. Jeans, a henley — the gray one Cole had told him to wear, which meant Jamie had followed the instruction, which meant Cole’s cock was now fully hard.
“You’re early,” Cole said.
“I couldn’t wait.”
“Get in here.”
He made Jamie eat first. This was non-negotiable and it was not a power play. It was care.
Jamie’s hands steadied as he ate. His body, receiving fuel and care, began to come down from the adrenaline spike. Cole saw it happen in real time — the settling.
He’s calming down because I’m taking care of him. This is the dynamic. It’s already happening.
Then he told Jamie what he was. When Cole said “control,” Jamie’s pupils dilated. When Cole said “praise,” Jamie’s breathing rate increased. When Cole described what he liked — physical dominance, hands on the body, voice in the ear, obedience given freely — Jamie’s lips parted and his entire posture shifted from rigid to receptive.
The kid’s body was a semaphore. Every signal was green.
“What do you want to call me?”
“Coach.”
Cole’s cock pulsed.
“Good boy,” Cole said. And he watched it hit.
The words hit Jamie’s system like a drug. His eyes widened. His lips parted. His breath caught. His entire body softened, opened, surrendered — a full-system response to two words.
That’s the real thing. That’s a submissive hearing his dom’s voice and going under.
“I want to belong to someone who won’t give up on me.”
Cole’s vision blurred. From the impact of hearing someone say the thing you’d been waiting to hear your entire adult life.
“I want to be your pet,” Jamie said. And cried.
“You’re mine. From this moment. For as long as you want to be.”
“Then get on your knees.”
Jamie’s knees hit the rug and Cole’s cock surged so hard against his zipper that he nearly groaned.
He stood still and watched. Because this — the first moment of a submissive kneeling by choice, for you, in your own home — was sacred.
This is why you survived the fights. The concussions. The loneliness. This is what the control was building toward. Not a cage. A cradle.
He threaded his fingers into Jamie’s hair. Thick, slightly damp, too long. His fingers sank in and gripped. Not pulling. Holding.
“Hands behind your back,” Cole said.
Jamie obeyed. The position changed everything — his chest opened, his spine straightened. He was presented. Offered.
Cole undid his belt. Slowly. The sound filled the quiet apartment. Jamie’s breathing changed. Faster. Shallower.
He pushed the waistband down. His cock sprang free — thick, hard, the foreskin pulled back from a flushed, swollen head. A bead of pre-come welled at the slit.
Jamie made a sound. A small, choked, desperate whimper that traveled from Jamie’s throat to Cole’s cock like an electric current.
“Do you want this?”
“God, yes.”
“Ask me properly.”
“Please, Coach. Please let me suck your cock.”
“Good boy. See how easy that was?”
He guided Jamie forward.
The first touch of Jamie’s tongue against the head of Cole’s cock nearly ended him.
It was clumsy. And it was, without question, the most erotic thing Cole had ever experienced. Because the clumsiness was evidence that nobody had ever taken the time to teach Jamie this. Jamie was starting from nothing, and the nothing was a canvas.
“That’s it. Good. Now take the head in. Slowly. Use your lips, not your teeth.”
Jamie opened wider. His mouth was hot — obscenely, shockingly hot — and the suction was immediate, instinctive.
“Fuck,” Cole breathed.
“Deeper. Hollow your cheeks. Use your tongue on the underside. Right there. Don’t — fuck. Don’t stop doing that.”
Jamie had found the vein. His tongue was tracing it with a pressure that was half-accidental and fully devastating.
He’s going to make you come in four minutes. He has no technique and zero experience and his mouth is perfect and you have been wanting this for a month.
“Look at me,” Cole said.
Jamie looked up. Through his lashes, jaw stretched, lips wrapped around Cole’s shaft. Hazel eyes wet and wide with total, annihilating attention.
“You have no idea how you look right now. On your knees. Taking me like you were made for it. My good boy. My perfect, beautiful pet.”
Jamie’s eyes rolled back. His whole body shuddered. His moan vibrated around Cole’s cock. His hips jerked forward — grinding against nothing, cock untouched and straining.
“I’m going to come,” Cole said. His hand loosened, giving Jamie the option to pull off.
Jamie didn’t pull off. He grabbed Cole’s hips and pulled him closer. The gesture — the greed of it, the submissive demanding more — shattered Cole’s last structural support.
He came. Hard. In Jamie’s mouth. Felt the throat work — swallowing, gagging slightly, swallowing again.
His mouth. His fucking mouth is mine now. Nobody else gets this. Mine. Until the end of my life.
Jamie pulled back. He knelt there, looking up, and his face was beatific. Pure. So full of trust that Cole wanted to wrap him in bulletproof glass.
This is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
“Good boy. My good, perfect boy. You were incredible. Come here.”
Jamie was hard. Cole knelt in front of him. Between his thighs. Looking up.
“I’m going to take care of you now. And when I tell you to come, you come. Understood?”
“Yes, Coach.”
Cole stripped him. Jamie’s cock sprang free — flushed dark, the head slick with pre-come.
“You’ve been this hard for hours?”
“Three and a half hours, approximately.”
“And you didn’t touch yourself?”
“You didn’t tell me I could.”
He didn’t touch himself because Cole hadn’t given permission. Jamie’s body had already decided. Had already organized itself around Cole’s authority, without being asked.
“I wanted it to be you,” Jamie whispered.
Cole wrapped his hand around Jamie’s cock.
The sound Jamie made was a broken, full-body cry. His back arched off the couch. His whole body surrendered to the touch.
Cole stroked him slowly. “You did so well tonight. Coming here. Being honest. Getting on your knees. Taking me in your mouth like you’d been starving for it. You were perfect.”
Jamie’s cock jerked in his hand. The praise was a physical stimulus — the shaft thickened and pulsed with each word. He was getting off on Cole’s voice. The hand was the delivery mechanism. The words were the drug.
“You’re mine now. This is mine. Your pleasure is mine. Your orgasms are mine. And right now, you’ve earned it.”
“Please. Coach. Please.”
“Tell me who you belong to.”
“You. I belong to you.”
“Tell me what you are.”
“I’m yours. I’m your pet. I’m your good boy.”
“Come for me.”
Jamie came. Violent. Every muscle locking simultaneously. His hands grabbing Cole’s shoulders. Come hitting Cole’s wrist, hot and thick. Sounds that had no consonants, just vowels, raw and broken.
Cole worked him through it. His other hand moved to Jamie’s neck — the anchor — and Jamie fell forward into his arms.
The shaking lasted a long time.
Cole held him on the floor. His back against the armchair, Jamie in his lap.
This is yours. He is yours. Not because you took him. Because he gave himself to you.
“How are you feeling?”
“I feel found.”
“Like I’ve been walking around in a building with a thousand rooms, opening every door. And I just walked in and the light was on and someone was home.”
“I’ve been in that room for a long time. Waiting for someone who’d know what the door looked like.”
“When can we do this again?”
Cole smiled. The real one. “When you earn it.”
Jamie fell asleep on the couch at 11:47 PM. Cole covered him with a blanket. Watched him breathe.
He sat in the armchair. His hands had stopped shaking. His chest was full. His apartment had another person in it for the first time in four years, and the walls were not staring back, and the silence was not empty.
He fell asleep in the armchair across from the most important thing that had ever happened to him, and his last thought before sleep was not about hockey or coaching or the careful, organized life he’d built to survive alone.
His last thought was: I’m going to need a bigger French press.
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